Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Donaldina did not break upon returning to Dun Ard.
She endured the gates opening beneath the watch fires and the rush of voices in the courtyard.
She endured Mairi’s cry, Hamish’s questions, and Father Maol lifting one hand in silent gratitude when he saw her alive.
She endured Roy dismounting behind her and lowering her from the horse as though the ground itself could not be trusted to receive her safely.
His hands remained at her waist for one moment after her feet touched stone.
“Can ye walk?” he asked.
Donaldina lifted her chin. “Aye.”
She proved it by crossing the courtyard without assistance.
Every face turned toward her. MacNicol and MacIver warriors stood together beneath the torchlight, some bearing blood from the fighting at the lodge, others shame for having arrived too late to share it.
Servants watched from doorways. Villagers who followed the rescuers from the town pressed near the gate, whispering her name as though she had returned from the dead rather than a forest several hours away.
Donaldina walked through them all. She thanked the men who bowed.
She instructed Malcolm to ensure the wounded received treatment before reports were taken.
She told the stable master that Roy’s stallion required walking, water, and a measure of oats, though the animal appeared less exhausted than she felt.
Then she climbed the inner stair. She sensed Roy behind her until the first landing. Mairi followed her into her chambers with an armful of blankets and enough alarm to provision a siege. “The healer is coming.”
“I dinnae require her.”
“Ye have blood upon yer wrists.”
“The ropes cut them.”
“Which is generally considered an injury.”
Donaldina removed her ruined gown with fingers that obeyed only after repeated instruction. Mairi helped her into a linen shift and warm wool robe, muttering furious prayers against Cormac, his men and every horse ever trained to carry a villain.
Then, Mairi washed the cuts around her wrists. Donaldina watched the water turn pink in the basin. She felt nothing.
“Ye should lie down,” Mairi urged.
“I am nae tired.”
It was a ridiculous statement. Donaldina’s bones ached with exhaustion.
Her eyes burned, and every breath seemed to scrape the inside of her chest. Yet, the thought of closing them brought the lodge behind her lids: the crooked shutter, Cormac’s hand upon her arm, the certainty in his voice when he told her she would remain his prisoner until other men decided her fate.
“I will sit awhile.”
Mairi looked toward the door. Donaldina knew precisely whom she hoped to find beyond it.
“Nae.”
“Me lady—”
“I require nae one.”
Mairi’s mouth tightened. Donaldina was too tired to soften the order.
“Go. See that the wounded men are cared for. I will ring if I need ye.”
Mairi remained unconvinced, but years of service taught her which battles could be postponed more profitably than fought. She added wood to the fire, set water and wine within Donaldina’s reach and departed with several backward glances.
The door shut, and silence filled the space.
Donaldina sat upon the edge of the bed, listening intently.
The castle still seemed unsettled. Footsteps echoed in the passage, and men called from the courtyard.
Somewhere downstairs, a door slammed, and a heavy bar was slid into place.
Every sound was ordinary. Every sound made her heart strike harder.
Donaldina folded her hands in her lap. The cuts upon her wrists burned where the salve touched them. Beneath the clean bandages, she could still feel the ropes tightening each time she struggled.
She drew a breath. It caught halfway into her lungs. She attempted another, but the same invisible band closed around her chest.
She straightened. There was no reason for fear. She was within Dun Ard. The door was closed. Guards stood along every passage, and Roy returned with enough fury in his face to make the castle walls appear insufficiently protected from him rather than from anyone outside.
Cormac was gone. She was safe.
Her hands began to shake. Donaldina stared at them. The movement was slight at first, a tremor in her fingers that might have been blamed on the cold. She closed them into fists. The shaking spread through her arms.
“Nae,” she whispered.
Her body did not obey. The room shifted around her. Firelight stretched strangely across the floor. The bed beneath her seemed to move with the rhythm of a horse running too quickly through darkness.
She rose, her knees trembling. She grasped the bedpost, which felt like Cormac’s arm wrapping around her.
Releasing it with a gasp, she staggered back and hit the small table by the bed.
The wine cup toppled, falling to the floor and rolling under the chair.
Suddenly, Roy entered without knocking, his eyes immediately finding her.
Donaldina stood beside the bed, one hand pressed against her chest, the other gripping the table’s edge.
She tried to feel angry at his unannounced entrance, as anger was something she knew well.
“Ye shouldnae be here.”
Roy closed the door behind him.
“I am fine,” she added.
Her voice broke upon the final word. Roy did not contradict her. He did not ask what she needed, nor offer the useless assurance that she was safe. Instead, he crossed the room and sat upon the floor beside her bed, placing his back against its carved frame.
Donaldina stared at him. “What are ye doing?”
“Sitting.”
“I can see that.”
“Then we have solved one difficulty.”
Even now, he found a way to be intolerable. It almost helped.
“Ye should leave.”
“Nae.”
“Roy.”
He rested his forearms upon his bent knees.
His sword was gone, though he still wore the dark shirt and trousers from the ride.
Smoke marked one sleeve. Dried blood darkened the leather at his shoulder, and a shallow cut crossed his temple where Cormac’s blade or a piece of the burning lodge had reached him. Donaldina looked at it too long.
“Ye are hurt.”
“So are ye.”
“I am nae.”
Roy’s eyes lifted to hers. She felt the lie collapse between them.
Another tremor moved through her. Donaldina turned away sharply, ashamed that he witnessed it.
Her body failed to feel fear when it might have been useful.
She fought Cormac upon the horse. She counted his guards.
She marked the path and stood before him in the lodge without allowing her voice to shake.
Now, when there was nothing left to fight, she could not command her own hands.
“Stop,” she whispered to herself.
Roy’s voice remained quiet. “Ye need tae stop fighting yer body.”
“I am doing nae such thing.”
“Ye are attempting tae stand while yer knees can scarcely hold ye.”
“I’ve been standing successfully for many years.”
“Then one poor evening willnae destroy yer reputation.”
Donaldina glared at him. Roy did not smile. His expression held no mockery, only the grave patience which had always made her feel more exposed than cruelty might have done.
“Sit down,” he urged.
Her legs shook again. Donaldina sat upon the edge of the bed because she chose to do so, and not because Roy MacIver had suggested it. The distinction mattered.
Roy remained upon the floor beside her. He was near enough that she could touch him by lowering one hand, yet he did not reach for her.
“Breathe,” he said.
“I am breathing.”
“Poorly.”
She drew in a sharp breath to prove him wrong. It stopped painfully beneath her ribs.
Roy’s gaze moved over her face. “Slower.”
Donaldina tried. The air came in fragments. “I cannae.”
The confession escaped before pride could prevent it.
Roy shifted, turning until he faced her more fully. “Aye, ye can. Dinnae force it deep. Take what breath ye are able.”
She closed her eyes. At once, the forest returned. Hooves struck the ground. Cloth pressed between her teeth. Cormac’s arm locked around her body while trees rushed past in darkness. Donaldina opened her eyes with a gasp. Roy was still there. He had not moved.
“Look at me,” he urged.
She did.
“Ye are at Dun Ard.”
“I ken where I am.”
“I ken. Tell me what ye see.”
Donaldina nearly told him the exercise was foolish. Then another tremor shook her shoulders, and defiance became too exhausting to maintain.
“The fire.”
“What else?”
“The bed curtains.”
Roy waited.
“The blue cover Mairi insists is warmer than the red one, though there is nae reasonable difference between them.”
“There is likely a military explanation.”
Despite everything, a broken sound left her which might once have been a laugh.
Roy’s face softened. “What else?”
Donaldina looked at him. “Ye.”
“Aye.” His voice settled over her, deep and steady. “Keep looking.”
She did. She watched the faint movement of his chest beneath his shirt. She noticed the damp strands of hair resting against his forehead, the pale scar upon his jaw, and the new cut near his temple.
Roy was real. He entered the lodge through smoke and steel. He turned from Cormac’s escape because she called his name. He came for her.
Donaldina’s next breath reached deeper. Then the control she had fought so fiercely to preserve failed altogether. A sob tore from her. She covered her mouth, horrified. Another followed. Roy rose at once not to leave, but to sit beside her upon the bed. The mattress lowered beneath his weight.
Donaldina turned away, pressing both hands against her face while her body shook. “I am sorry.”
“Nae.”
“I cannae stop.”
“Then dinnae.”
The simple permission undid her. Donaldina bent forward.
Roy caught her before she folded entirely into herself.
His arm came around her shoulders, drawing her against his side.
For one moment, she resisted. Then she turned into him.
Her hands seized the front of his shirt.
She pressed her face against his chest, and everything she held within her since the lane beyond the festival broke free.